Saturday 7th January 2017

I now right every day, and I have noticed that sometimes the words just tumble out, into what I think is almost acceptable prose. But sometimes I have to work hard to grab them out of the air, and the act of writing itself becomes a chore. Yesterday's post was one which I struggled to write, even though I had a lot to write about, and yet it felt just flat to me. Anyway, although I can't promise there will be a post that is a right riveting read, some will be better than others, and sometimes we just don't do much as we have had a hard week at work, or traveling.

Anyway, Saturday.

I must have been tired, as I laid in bed until, get this, twenty past eight! Jools had got up, fed the cats, come back to bed, and I slept on. Of course, it did mean having that wooly headed feeling the rest of the day, but for the first time in weeks, I felt rested.

We have a coffee, catch up on the news, then bake croissants and make another coffee, all of which means we were ready to do something not much before ten, and with it being a dull and drizzly day outside, we decided to take thinks easy and chill for the morning. Which meant editing shots, writing a blog post, and listening to Huey on the radio.

And at twelve everything stops as we had a visitor; one of Jools' oldest friends came round to catch up, so the radio had to be switched off, and I went into the kitchen to get creative, making spicy tomato soup and potato bread using some of the old cheese left over from Christmas.

Lunch was great, even if the lack of self-rising flour meant using plain and bicarbonate soda, the result was huge buns, more than enough for lunch and then dinner too.

Leanne leaves just before three which means I could lay on the sofa listening to the cup games on the radio, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, City did not lose. They did not win either, so are in the draw for the next round after equalising in the last minute to salvage a draw against Southampton.

We have insalata caprese for dinner, before driving out to Whitfield for a night of cards and banter at the old folks' place.

A family friend, Uncle John, lost his wife of 50 years just before Christmas, and sadly it was his wife and her sharp tongue that meant we stopped going to the quiz nights. Phillis wasn't a nice or popular person, but John loved her, and obviously has been broken since she has gone. He woke up one morning, and she didn't, just as simple as that.

Anyway, we sit down at eight for a couple of games of Meld, and with drink flowing, it was a fine night. Jools was on Schloer, so she drove us back home, dropping John back home on the way, meaning we go back nearly at one. Dirty stopouts that we are!